Sacrifice
by WeAreShootingStars
Summary: Fear doesn't shut you down, it wakes you up. It makes you realize what you really care for. When Newt and Minho are trapped in the Maze with a Griever cutting off their only way of escape, Newt makes a decision that could impact the entire Glade. He just needs to make it out alive. "The most sublime act is to set another before you..." AU take on how Newt got his limp.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** teen –blood/gore &amp; language  
**A/N: **Well, here I am again. As I stated in the summary, (which I suck at btw, but hey! at least you clicked on it!), this is an AU take on how our precious Newt got his limp. After reading the books, I just couldn't picture Newt attempting suicide. It just didn't seem to fit his character... so of course my sadistic imagination had to come up with this. *laughs evilly*

**A/N #2:** none of my betas ever get back to me, so I had a friend "beta" it for me. If you're interested in beta-ing for me, PM me!

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to James Dashner, not me. There's a reason it's called _FAN_fiction.

[takes place ten months after original Gladers arrived in the Maze.]

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

"We finally must be going mad. It's the only explanation."

Minho sighed and peered at the empty blackness in front of him, trying to make sense of it.

"I told ya it was buggin' weird," Newt whispered next him, also staring into the inky black space.

The boys stood at the edge of a cliff. Beyond the steep drop-off, was nothing. Simply nothing. It was unnatural blackness that began a few feet from the edge of the cliff and continued on for only God knows how long. Neither one could come up with a rational explanation yet, simply because there was none to be found.

The evening prior, Newt had dashed out of the South entrance of the Maze earlier than usual. His face was red from exertion and he nearly collapsed before Alby reached him. After getting the blond Runner some water, the Gladers gathered around him, pestering him with questions. Other than assuring them there was no Griever, Newt shut up and refused to speak to anyone except Minho. Alby tried to get him to talk, but nothing would budge the stubborn kid.

Finally, the rest of the Runners returned at sundown. Newt immediately took the Keeper of the Runners aside. The two held a whispered conversation behind the map room, Newt talking hurriedly and Minho nodding as he listened. By the end of the exchange, the look on the older boy's face was one of both puzzlement and determination.

The two boys immediately packed their backpacks for the next day. Minho called one of the Runner trainees over and told him that he would be taking his square the following morning. The Gladers again tried to get Newt and Minho to talk, but the attempts were futile. Even Alby was refused an answer.

The moment the doors opened the next morning, Newt and Minho slipped into the Maze through the south entrance. Alby found a folded note on his pillow when he woke up.

"Alby,  
We're sorry about all the secrecy. I may have found the end of this bloody Maze. I just didn't want to get the boys' hopes up of it turns out to be nothing. We'll be back by sundown. Tell Frypan we'll be hungry. See you shanks later.  
-Newt  
P.s. Minho says to keep this zipped."

It had taken longer to find from the previous day, considering the Maze changed each night, but at last the boys stood in front of Newt's discovery.

Minho shook his head, an expression of disbelief on his face. "Let's get some rocks and try to see how far down this shuck thing goes."

"Good that," Newt agreed. The two set to work picking loose stones from the Maze walls several yards away. After Minho and Newt collected a good amount, they brought them over to the cliff and sat down, the pile of rocks between them.

One by one, they tossed the stones into the blackness. One by one, each of the stones would be visible for the first twenty or so feet, then completely vanish. Only the rocks dropped within a few feet of the cliff edge continued to be visible until they fell out of sight. Even then, though, none of the stones ever seemed to reach the bottom. Newt and Minho worked in silence, ears straining to hear the faintest noise. Hopes, and nerves, began to wear thin.

Finally, Minho had enough. "This is ridiculous!" He yelled, standing up and hurling a rock into the nothingness. "It's just a shuck black hole that swallows rocks! What's the use of it?!"

"Cool it, slinthead." Newt warned darkly. "Don't go whining to me."

"Well you were the shank who found this place," Minho retorted hotly. "Why'd ya have to get my shucking hopes up?! Here I thought ya said you'd found the end of the Maze!"

Newt shot up, fists clenched. "I bloody said that I found what 'could' be the end of the Maze, but I wasn't sure."

"Well it's not. And now we're back where we started!"

"And where's that?!"

Minho's eyes fell, suddenly silent, then said quietly, "Nothing. Shucking nothing. Still trapped in this shuck Maze. That's where."

Newt sighed, his expression softening, "Look, I know this is disappointing, but yellin' at each other like crazy shanks will not get us closer to finding the real way out."

Silence reigned for several minutes, each boy deep in his own thoughts. Then Minho laughed.

Newt raised his eyebrows, surprised at the sound.

Minho had yet to look up, speaking to the stones at his feet. "We really are slintheads, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Newt agreed.

"But we can't give up so shucking easily." Minho raised his head.

Newt nodded. "Good that."

"I really am a pain in the butt sometimes," Minho joked, trying to put the whole temper episode behind them.

"No more than any of the other shanks down in the Glade," Newt responded in all seriousness. He pulled their backpacks towards him and began to inspect the contents.

Minho ignored Newt's last comment and checked his watch. "Shit, we've got an hour before the gates close. We'd better he-"

_ Click_

Both boys froze instantly.

_ Click. Whrrrr… Click._

Newt slowly stood. The noise behind them sent shivers down their spines. It was a familiar, yet dreaded sound of metal against stone that could only mean one thing: Grievers. Minho and Newt exchanged fearful glances, then slowly turned around. A Griever blocked the entrance of the Maze, its slimy body pulsing and the red lights flickering. The thing didn't move, just sat there. Waiting.

"Do you think the bloody thing's waiting for us to make the first move?" Newt asked under his breath, his eyes never moving from the creature in front of them.

"I don't know," Minho said slowly. He slid his hand down the leg of his pants until he felt his leather sheath. Long fingers wrapped around the knife kept there and carefully withdrew the blade. Minho grasped the knife tightly and glanced to his right. Newt had done the same as he, and was now brandishing his eight inch blade at the Griever. Both boys knew their mere pockets knives would have almost no effect on the monster, but neither would admit the helplessness of their situation.

_Calling for help will be useless_, Newt thought. _No one would hear us..._

"We need to draw it away from the entrance," Newt thought out loud.

"Well thank you captain obvious," Minho replied sarcastically. "How are we gonna do that? The shuck Griever isn't moving."

Newt contemplated the half creature half machine in front of them for a moment, chewing his fingernail. Minho could almost see the wheels turning wildly in his head. Suddenly, Newt straightened up. There was a decisive look on his face, and his next few words froze Minho's blood. "I'll distract the bloody thing. Yo-"

"Shuck no!" Minho yelled, indignant. "You think I w-"

"Shhh!" Newt clapped his hand over his friend's mouth, eyes wide. He jerked his head towards the Griever.

All of Minho's anger dissipated instantly, replaced with icy horror. The Griever was shifting from its spot. Groaning, it rolled forward several feet, then stopped. Its metal arms unfolded with clicks and hisses. Newt looked at Minho sternly, his brown eyes daring him to contradict his plan.

"Go. I'll distract it," he whispered. "Don't worry about me. I'll be right on your tail. You know I'm the fastest Runner."

Minho gulped, then plastered a false mask of bravado to his face and grinned. "Fine," he huffed. "But if I don't see your shuck ass within three minutes, I'm coming back."

"Good that," Newt smiled. Even with Minho's efforts to appear fearless, his eyes were still filled with concern.

Before he could begin to have second thoughts, Newt spun on his heel and ran near the cliff's edge to the opposite end of the clearing.

The Griever immediately retracted its arms into itself and began rolling towards the new prey.

* * *

**Soooo... what do you think? Continue? Dump? Shuttle to Pluto never to be seen again? Let me know by hitting that little button below. ;]**

**-Stars**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Finally! An update! *claps joyfully***

**[Edit: I fixed the ending... thanks AndersDanJij for informing me about my inconsistency. We're all better now! (I hope...o_o)]**

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**CHAPTER 2**

Newt ran, the Griever rolling after him.

It covered ground fast, rolling with a speed that seemed impossible for such a creature. Glancing over his shoulder, Newt saw Minho dash towards the opening into the Maze.

He was only halfway to the entrance when the Griever abruptly halted and changed its focus to the other sprinting teen. In horror, Newt realized his distraction wasn't working. He quickly switched to a different tactic.

"Hey you!" Newt waved his arms wildly at the thing, trying anything to direct its attention away from Minho. "Hey ya klunk face! Over here!" His shouting worked. The Griever stopped, then once again began rolling in his direction.

Newt quickly glimpsed Minho's retreating form turn out of sight in the Maze, and sighed with relief. The feeling didn't last, however. Horrible, animalistic groans rose from the Griever behind him.

Letting forth a burst of speed, Newt ran several more yards, before he stopped and spun around to face the monster. The Griever was now within ten yards.

Nine yards.

Newt's harsh panting and the wild thumping of his heart filled his ears.

Seven yards.

He licked his lips, praying his plan would work.

Five yards away.

Four.

When the Griever was within ten feet, Newt dived sharply to his left. He landed painfully on the stones, and the Griever rolled within six feet of his shoes. Scrambling a moment before getting up, Newt looked behind him.

Based on his few previous confrontations, Grievers were not able to easily change directions once they were rolling fast enough. Usually, this could give a Runner enough time to duck down a couple turns and escape. This Griever, however, must have been a newer version. Once it rolled thirty feet of the fallen Runner, it noticed its prey was gone and abruptly halted. Its red lights flashed menacingly as it searched for the boy.

It found Newt—bent double and breathing hard—and locked focus on him again. The Griever let forth a roar of anger.

The boy glanced up and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Oh shit."

Adrenaline once again coursed through his veins, giving him renewed strength. Newt bolted for the Maze entrance, the Griever at his heels. He made it in and tried to recall to the route back to the Glade. _'First a left, then a right, then right again..._' The Griever groaned again, closer now. Newt shook his head fiercely, attempting to repress his panic.

_'Think about the path. What's next. It's left again, then another left, no, right..._'

Thoughts had a difficult time connecting. Newt slowed down to a jog at a fork in the path, unable to remember which branch to take. Without warning, the Griever unfolded its metal arms and slashed at the blond Runner with a sharp claw, cutting a red line into his back.

Newt cried out and fell to his hands and knees from the sudden force of the blow. He clenched his teeth in pain, and pushed himself up, drawing his knife from its sheath. He spun and confronted the creature.

The thing reared up, metal arms poised menacingly. Newt winced and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. There was no escape of the pure terror that now washed over him in waves.

He knew it. It was over for him. He only hoped that Minho had made it safely to the Glade. God, he prayed he wouldn't be a bloody idiot and come looking for him.

Minho needed to stay and keep the peace between the Gladers when he was gone.

Dead.

Killed.

The thought sent shivers down his spine. It might be hopeless, but he wouldn't die like a coward. He would go down fighting. Fighting against whoever were the ones who put him here and all their shuck plans. Newt brandished his knife at the monster, breathing heavily as the Griever barreled towards him. He would fight hard.

Like a Glader.

Like a man.

* * *

**Sorry that this chapter is so short though... damn stupid writer's block. The muse bunny has been quivering in a corner as I rush madly around with VBS and camps and classes and another camp and an upcoming wedding (not mine) and, well, you get the point...**

***sigh***

**my life is too busy...**

**If you have certain ideas you want me to take, PLEASE let me know! ****_Reviewing is really not that hard, and will not take long, _****I swear. All ya gotta do is hit that little gray button down there... ;]**

**More reviews means longer chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_**Maaan**_**. It has been way too long. The plot bunny didn't stay away for long, but he brought his friends…. O_O …. Now I have seven different stories going at the same time, on top of everything else. Yep... Life also happens. Stress happens. And other stuff. But lots of stress...**

**Aaanyway… enough about me. Guess what?! LONGER CHAPTER! **

**I also want to thank all my kind reviewers**** and everyone who put this story on their favorites/follow lists****… you people brighten my day!**

**Disclaimer: Last I checked, Dashner has yet to contact me again regarding the signing over of the characters. So no, I don't own anything except my hyper-active imagination. :P**

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

Minho ran.

He didn't know how long Newt would be able to hold off the Griever before escaping. One minute? Two or three of he was lucky. _That's was, if he escaped_. Minho shook his head forcefully. _'He's Newt. Of course he's going to get away_,' he thought determinedly. _'He's fast and he's smart. He'll probably make the shuck thing roll off the cliff or something. Don't worry about him._' The sickening feeling in his gut told a different story. He gritted his teeth and focused on navigating the twisting route at full speed.

Ivy encased walls blurred past. Flickers of movement shifted in the leaves but Minho didn't stay long enough to bother finding out their cause. His feet pounded against the stone. Breathes came in controlled huffs. He'd made it into the inner maze...only a few more turns to safety...

Suddenly, a sound shattered the echoing silence of the Maze and instantly froze the runner's blood: A strangled screen of pain and rage.

_Newt. _

Minho's steady pace faltered. He tripped, arms pin wheeling briefly to regain balance, before he slammed to a halt against a leaf covered wall. Groaning under his breath, he strained to catch any more that might reveal Newt's situation. Deep within the Maze, metal grated against stone. A Griever hissed angrily. Then, a second scream split the air and abruptly cut short.

Before he could stop himself, he called out. "NEWT!

Minho immediately realized what he'd done and shrunk into the wall's foliage, cursing his stupidity. Any Griever within forty yards was probably now rolling its way towards the Maze's new living dinner-bell. Distant sounds of a battle rang out, metal against metal and metal against stone. Intermittent yells and angry hisses sent fear coursing through Minho's body. Still, he remained hidden. A dead rescuer was as good as no rescuer. When no Grievers showed after several seconds, he glanced up and down the passageway. Nada.

The boy hesitated a moment; then he spun on his heel and raced towards the noise of the brawl. Shuck what Newt said. Shuck it all. He couldn't leave a fellow Glader to die... and especially not Newt.

Minho fought down panic as he ran. Newt had arrived only five months ago, but his optimistic temperament and quiet aura of leadership instantly won him the trust of every boy in the Glade.

He kept peace, calmed tempers, and negotiated compromises. His logic had saved several shanks from killing each other. He'd even taken to giving greenies the "tour" of the Glade. His calm voice and kind smile eased fears.

Newt was the glue.

Through him, anarchic boys became loyal brothers.

_And you don't leave your brother behind. _

Another pained scream, noticeably weaker, emitted from farther into the Maze. Minho's chest throbbed from his harsh panting. His legs felt like putty, but he willed them to go faster. He was almost there. The passage ahead split in opposite directions like a T.

Suddenly, a thump and muffled cry came from the right branching passage. Minho skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. He could hear the harsh creaks of the Griever now; the mechanical creature sounded pissed. Knife held ready, Minho crept to the corner and looked around. At the scene, his heart plummeted to his shoes.

The Griever loomed over Newt's crumpled form, bulbous body shaking and clicking angrily. Yellow fluid leaked from the multiple punctures in its slimy hide. Minho briefly wondered why the creature had not simply snatched up its victim and gone, as usual. Then he noticed the Griever's robotic limbs tangled in lengths of thick ivy. Its stinger lay ten feet from where Minho now stood.

_'Truly brilliant Newt_,' the winded runner thought. _'I just hope you got it before it got you_.'

The thought was too terrible to dwell on.

The monster shuddered as strained machinery spit sparks and smoke. Newt had hacked its ugly face pretty good too. It wasn't going to be biting anyone anytime soon, that was for sure. The creature wasn't completely restrained though; it had managed to rip its front leg free from the ivy trap. The only reason the entangled Griever had yet to notice Minho because it was attempting to stab every piece of Newt it could reach. Fortunately, Newt avoided being seriously skewered; he lay huddled on his side underneath the Griever, his back toward Minho. Newt was bad off, blood staining his ripped clothes and one foot faced the opposite direction it was supposed to. The Griever, on the other hand, didn't think he was bad enough...

_Slash!_ Crimson blossomed over his shoulder.

_Slash!_ Another line sliced into his back.

Yet the downed runner made no noise. No response… Not even a flinch.

_No._

Minho's heart stuttered inside his chest.

_He can't be dead. He can't be dead. Hecan'tbedead._

Blood pounding behind his ears blocked all logical thought. Adrenaline surged. In wild rage, he swept up the Griever's broken stinger charged the creature, screaming at the top of his lungs. The Griever had been so focused on Newt, it barely recognized the runner charging at it before Minho plunged its own stinger into the creature's slimy side. It bellowed in fury, jerking him off.

Minho sprawled several feet away; his head smacked loudly against the stone. Dizzy, he groaned and pushed himself up again. The Griever shuddered as its own poison dispersed through its "blood" stream. It creaked horribly, unsteady on its tangled legs. Then a sudden realization jolted Minho from his frozen state. The shuck thing would smash Newt underneath it if it fell on top of him. He glanced wildly around. _The ivy_. Minho snatched up a length of the plant and sprinted to side of the Griever opposite Newt's comatose form. His fingers shook too hard to tie the ivy into any sort of knot, so he gripped the ends tightly instead. Once, twice, he tossed the ivy rope; the second try caught one of the Griever's many protruding mechanisms. Minho yanked.

The monster shook once more, and then dropped toward Minho. The boy scrambled away as it hit the stone floor with a final thump.

The Maze was quiet except for Minho's heavy wheezing and hammering heart. Hesitantly, he shoved the creature with his shoe.

It was dead.

Minho sighed in relief, and then stood on shaky legs. He stumbled towards Newt and dropped to his knees beside the fallen runner.

"Newt..." Strain cracked his voice.

Trembling hands rolled the blonde runner into his back. Newt's body was limp. Cuts littered his pale skin. His usually bright eyes were closed, and blood trickled from his slack mouth. Immediately, he put his ear to Newt's shredded shirt.

A heartbeat. It was there, however faint.

"Newt..." Minho pleaded hoarsely, shaking the blonde's shoulders. "C'mon ya shank. Wake up."

Newt's head only rolled limply, eyes shut.

"You're not dying on me Newt."

Still no response.

Minho gritted his teeth as panic wrapped her icy fingers around his chest. "Newt!" he shouted desperately. "Newt, you listen to me! Don't give up now. Don't get lazy!"

He was shaking his friend with each word. His own arms trembled. It was no use. Newt remained limp.

"You stupid shank…" Minho muttered. "Just wake up…" He scrubbed furiously at his burning eyes.

Shaking himself, Minho mentally assessed and cataloged Newt's injuries… the worst being his left ankle. It twisted in the completely wrong direction, definitely broken.

Minho's stomach lurched.

Suddenly, the Maze rumbled, stones groaning in protest of the change that yet to come. Minho glanced at his watch and cursed. Newt had yet to wake up, and the Maze would close in less than ten minutes.

* * *

***laughs evilly* Cliffies are so much fun…. **

**QUESTION: Does anyone know what foot Newt had injured in the book? I can't remember, so I'm just saying right, but stuff like this drives me crAzy. [EDIT: I fixed it. Thx to _Midori the Matchmaker_ for correcting me!]**

**How are you liking it so far? Questions? Constructive criticism? Cookies? Please review! I love hearing from my readers (and I know that I'm getting more than just 8…). Seriously. It doesn't take that long either… ;]**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello again dear readers!**

***throws confetti* Hooray! Another chapter! (And it's extra long to make up for my extended silence… ;])**

**On a side note: A few readers reminded me that according to canon, no Glader had ever met with or killed a Griever and survived to tell the tale. I just wanted to note that this is my AU take on how Newt got his limp, as stated in the summary. AU means the story deviates/changes from the original story line.**

**Bottom line: This story is assuming that Newt and Minho are the only Gladers before Thomas to witness and kill a Griever. Thomas was the first one to kill it and come out (relatively) unscathed.**

**Capiche?**

**Good. Don't like it, don't read it.**

**That being said, on to the story!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Newt's dead weight felt like a sack of potatoes. A very heavy, very delicate bag of potatoes that was. Minho cursed under his breath as he stumbled once more.

"Come on, Newt," he muttered, hefting the limp boy higher on his back. "Just wake up and help me a bit, will ya?"

He didn't expect a reply. None came.

Before starting back to the Glade, Minho had wrapped Newt's bleeding head with a strip of his shirt. Although numerous, the other cuts and scrapes littering Newt's body didn't seem dangerously deep. His foot would have to wait; Minho didn't want to worsen it by setting it wrong. Hopefully, the med-jacks would know how to fix it properly.

Minho swallowed the last dregs of water in his canteen and prepared himself for the trek back to the Glade. He dragged Newt to slump against a wall, then gathering his strength, grasped the boy's wrists around his neck and heaved up. Beneath Newt's lithe frame, the runner was pure muscle. Minho felt his strength falter and staggered against the wall under the dead weight, pinning the unconscious Newt between his back and the ivy.

A low moan slipped from Newt's lips. Minho froze, hope rising. "Newt! You awake?"

No more noises came.

Minho sighed and grabbed both Newt's hands in one of his own, then attempted to shift the boy's dead weight to the center of his back. Newt's head lolled on his shoulder.

"Listen, ya shank," he ground out, "We need to get back home soon, or both of us are dead. Ya hear me?" Minho knew Newt wasn't hearing a single word he said, but speaking aloud helped keep his mind from panic. It was better than screaming, or worse, crying. A sudden resurgence of Griever noises echoing from deeper in the Maze sent the runner rushing down the passageway as fast as he could go with a limp load on his back. Fear and adrenaline pumped strength into his weary limbs.

The trek back to the Glade felt like the longest of Minho's life. He kept up a constant, hurried pace, only slowing down for a breather every two minutes or so. He didn't dare stop; time was ticking. Minho also knew that if he set Newt down, he wouldn't be able to get up again. He'd reached the inner Maze when he felt his strained arms weakening and panicked, sending a silent prayer heavenward. Suddenly, Minho's arms surged with supernatural strength. Glancing up, he thanked the sky and then hefted the blond runner higher up his back again.

"You'd better not die on me, Newt," he whispered between harsh breaths. Newt hadn't stirred yet. Warm, intermittent puffs of breath against his neck and the wet blood slowly soaking his shoulder were Minho's only reminders that he was still carrying a living body, not a corpse. Minho blinked his eyes furiously. "I shucking swear, if you die, I'm gonna bring your sorry ass back here and kill you again myself."

The Maze groaned as if in response. An ominous warning. Minho jogged faster, heart hammering madly in his chest and Newt bumping against his back. They were almost there, only a few more turns to go when a small gasp of pain from his burden startled him. Minho nearly stumbled again, catching himself against a wall before jogging on.

"Newt?" He breathed. "Newt, you awake?"

Minho felt Newt press his face into his shoulder, a whimper of pain escaping his now tense jaw.

Relief flooded through Minho's body. "Bite my shoulder straps if you have to, Newt. We're almost there."

He felt no response from the blond. Minho sighed, trying to blink the black spots from his eyes. Newt'd dropped unconscious once more.

A thunderous creak vibrated through the Maze—the doors were beginning to close. Minho turned the final corner and saw the Glade. All the Gladers stood waiting anxiously inside the doors. Wild yells and shouts of encouragement exploded the moment they saw Minho come into view, the giant stone doors groaning all the while as they moved sluggishly towards one another.

A final burst of adrenaline fueled Minho's weakening legs. He screamed—pain, fear, and power melting into an almost inhuman sound—and ran, Newt's dead weight seemingly forgotten. His feet pounded the stone.

Thirty feet.

The doors continued sliding towards each other.

Twenty feet.

Incoherent shouts coming from the Gladers.

Ten feet.

His vision was blackening; sound was strangely muted.

Between the doors, cold stone only inches away his shoulders.

The Gladers were screaming his name now, he could see their mouths forming words, their wild gesturing, but couldn't hear them.

He was through!

Beneath his shoes, unforgiving rock gave way to spongey grass. His momentum sent him sprawling, Newt slipping from his grasp. They were rolling wildly, no control over anything anymore. Finally, Minho felt his body stop. His mind still spun. Sound no longer existed. Faces above him blurred together. He attempted to move, to get up, to find Newt, but with a final sigh, blackness overtook his mind.

...

Everything ached.

Minho groaned, wishing for that blessed nothingness of unconsciousness to return. It didn't; however, something cool was laid across his forehead and Minho sighed contentedly in the relief it gave. He opened his eyes. Murky twilight filtered in through the slats in the window, giving the room a dusty appearance. He was lying on one of the straw mattresses in the homestead. All his equipment had been removed. What happened? Why was he here? His mind felt foggy as he attempted to piece his thoughts together. Running... running... cliff... Griever... Newt...oh God...

"Newt!" He tried to sit up but fell back when all his muscles screamed in protest. "Shiiiiiiit…."

"Minho! You're awake!" Connor, a young track-hoe with a bright smile and messy dark hair, stood over him, holding a cup.

"Yeah… wish I wasn't." Minho groaned again as he slowly pulled his aching body into a sitting position.

Connor handed him the cup. "Here you go. You're supposed to drink this. The med-jacks already checked you out and said that you're probably really dehydrated and that ya need to drink as much water as you can when you wake up. You've been out for about an hour."

Minho gulped the water down gratefully as the twelve year old continued his chatter. "You shanks gave us a scare ya know. I nearly klunked myself, it was so close. I mean, you guys barely made it through!" Connor poured the older boy another cup of water from the bucket by his stool. "Alby was seriously worried too. What happened? Was it Grievers? Those things are sure scary… I think I'd die if I ever saw one. How'd ya get away? Di—mpfff" Minho clapped his hand across the kid's mouth, closing his eyes against the headache that was beginning to form.

"Just slim it a sec, won't ya?" Connor nodded, eyes wide. Minho removed his hand.

He was on again. "You're really pale, Minho. I should get Clint or Jeff—"

"No," Minho interrupted, "don't do that. Where's Newt? Is he okay?"

"I don't really know, I've been watching for you to wake up. He's upstairs though. Whoa! Where are you going?"

Minho swung his legs over the side of the mattress, pausing to let a bout of dizziness pass.

"I need to help him."

Connor gave him another cup of water. "But Clint and Jeff are up there already. Alby's up there too I think, and Gally. He should be fine."

Minho handed back the drained cup and licked his lips. The lightheadedness had almost gone. His head still pounded, most likely from dehydration, and his muscles ached, but not as sharply as before. He pushed himself up off the mattress, gritting his teeth against the dull ache that pulsed through his entire body.

"I need to see him."

"Bu—"

"Now."

Connor sighed. "Upstairs. Don't pass out. You look like klunk."

Minho gave a sharp nod and stumbled out of the room. The sun had set, and the noises of final chores before the Gladers prepared for bed wafted through a window. Clinging to the walls, he made his way up the stairs. Candlelight trickled around the cracked open door of a room to the right. He could hear subdued voices

"—there's no sign he's been stung," Clint, the head med-jack, was speaking quietly. "He's out 'cause of a knock to his head and blood-loss. Head injuries always bleed more than others."

Alby spoke up. "What about his ankle? Why haven't you set it yet?"

A pause.

Jeff cleared his throat. "Well, ya see, we've never really had anything like this. We don't know exactly what to do—"

Gally's scratchy voice cut across him. "You shanks are the med-jacks though."

"Hey shuck-face," Jeff snapped, "we're just kids too—"

Minho pushed open the door, effectively ending the argument. A brief smile of relief flashed across Alby's grim face. "About time, Minho."

Minho gave a tight-lipped smile and glanced about the room. Jeff perched on a stool in a lighted corner, ripping cloth into strips. Gally was leaning against the wall, arms crossed angrily. He and Jeff were staring daggers at each other in a silent battle of wills. Alby stood at the foot of Newt's cot, and Clint sat dabbing dried blood from Newt's face with a wet rag.

The boys had removed Newt's shredded shirt and pants, leaving him clad in only his boxers. Despite the evening chill, a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. The flickering shadows from the crude tallow candles lighting the room threw Newt's injuries in harsh relief. Colorful bruises crept across Newt's chest like a storm cloud; several ugly cuts crossed his torso from the Griever's sharp claws. Worst of all was his ankle. His left foot lay angled wrong and his entire lower calf was swollen and discolored, the darkest purples right above his ankle.

Minho winced. He was almost glad Newt hadn't woken up yet.

"Poor shank's bad off."

Minho looked up at the sound of Clint's voice.

"Yeah, I probably didn't help either."

Clint cocked an eyebrow as he continued cleaning Newt's cuts. "How so?"

"I should've bound it or something."

Frowning, Gally pushed off the wall and approached Minho. "Y'know, we still don't know how our best runner got like this. What happened out there? Why don't you look like klunk too?"

Minho shrugged. "I feel like klunk."

"That's not the question," grated Gally.

Minho sat on the edge of Newt's mattress and proceeded to explain about Newt's find, the Griever, the distraction, and his own rescue of the keeper of the Runners. The boys listened carefully. Other than Minho's voice, the only other sound in the room was Clint re-wetting his rag. After he finished, the boys remained silent. Alby sighed, staring at Newt's battered form.

"Always the hero, aren't ya."

Clint took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm gonna see if I can feel the shucking break before he wakes up."

"It just might do that, y'know," said Jeff, setting aside his pile of cloth strips and joining the head med-jack by the bed.

"It's still gotta be done."

Minho stood up again, muscles aching. "Is there something I can do?"

"Just stand near him, I guess," shrugged Clint. "Keep him calm if he comes to."

"S-sure." Minho took a seat on Clint's empty stool.

The med-jack's gentle fingers ghosted over Newt's swollen leg before carefully prodding the taught skin. When Newt didn't stir, Clint lightly grasped the injured foot and started to slowly move it upright.

Newt woke with a strangled gasp.

Clint quickly let go of the boy's leg. "Newt!" He exclaimed.

"Bloody... hell..." Newt cursed through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

"How are you feelin'?" Alby asked quietly.

The injured boy groaned in response. Minho slipped a comforting hand into his friend's trembling fingers as they fumbled for a hold on the rough cotton-covered mattress. Newt squeezed back gratefully.

"Well, it's definitely broken," the head med-jack stated. Gally shot him a 'No, duh' glare.

Newt cracked his eyes open. "I coulda told you that."

Alby chuckled from his spot against the wall, then came to crouch near the cot. "Besides the leg, how're you feeling?"

"Dizziness? Problems seeing or hearing?" Clint drilled, "What was the last thing you remember?"

Newt shook his head and groaned slightly as he shifted his weight on the mattress, hissing when he jerked his leg. "The bloody Griever... threw me against... the wall... and then I hit the ground..." He paused to catch his breath before going on. "...I thought I'd gotten all its shuckin' legs tied... but it must've ripped 'em... free again."

"Only one of its legs was free when I got there," Minho commented, "It must have yanked you back or something too, 'cause you were under the Griever, about to be stabbed."

"Thanks, Minho." Newt gripped Minho's hand tightly before releasing it. "I... owe ya one."

"What for?"

"Savin' my life... dumbass."

Minho smiled. "Sure thing, klunk face."

"Sorry to break up your bonding time shanks," interrupted Gally, "but it's not gonna fix his leg. We got to do something about it." Newt winced and nodded.

All the boys turned to look at Clint, who was wringing his cloth over the water bucket. "Look, I've only been here for six months now," he reminded the boys seriously, his eyes shifting from the bucket to the floor. "Never had nothin' like this before-"

"Well," interrupted Gally rudely, "he's not gonna be able to do anything with his leg shucked like that." Alby nodded in silent agreement.

"Do we cut it off?" Jeff proposed.

Newt grabbed Minho's arm again in a death grip. "Don't let 'em... bloody cut it off, Minho," he rasped. "If you've... ever been my friend..." Minho sent a pleading glance for help to Jeff.

"Slim it, Newt." The med-jack held up his hands. "I was only jokin'."

Newt glared at him weakly. "Wasn't... very bloody... funny."

Pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, Clint grimaced. "I need to set it." The boys all exchanged meaningful glances.

Newt jerked his head and set his jaw. "Jus'... make it quick."

* * *

**Poor Newt. I really am a sadistic writer, torturing my favorite characters and enjoying doing so… O_O**

**Sorry again about how late this was… life happens and sometimes life seriously sucks. On the bright side, I think this story has two more chapters left to it, so hang in there dear readers, it will be completed!**

**Thank you again for all your kind and enthusiastic reviews! Each one is greatly appreciated.**

**So what did you think of this chapter? Long enough for ya? ;] Leave me a note to tell me what you think!**


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